


The Ties That Bind

by Angstqueen



Category: Counterstrike (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:27:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angstqueen/pseuds/Angstqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A meet goes terribly wrong, leaving Sinclair injured. Stone feels it's his fault. Can someone from the past change his mind?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ties That Bind

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally printed in the Neon Rainbow Press zine "Addington International #3" under the pen name Lee Alexander.

 

 

 

 

 

Hector Stone restlessly paced the hospital corridor.  Six hours… they should've heard _something_ by now.  Raking fingers through his short hair, he turned to head back to the waiting room.

_How did it all get so fucked up?_

Even as he asked himself, he knew the answer: Bad intelligence and lousy execution of the plan on their part – especially his own.  He'd been delayed due to mechanical problems with his bike and a traffic jam.  He hadn't been there when his partner needed him most.  And now Pete was paying the price, perhaps with his life.

Muttering a curse, Stone again found himself hoping that someday they'd find the bastards behind all this.  It had been three years since Chantal Addington had disappeared and her husband still couldn't give up hope.  Not that Stone blamed him.  It was hard to walk away until you had a body to bury.  But three years?  A lot had changed in that time.  Even if they did find Mrs. A alive, would she be the same woman?

As he approached the waiting room, he heard a voice raised in anger.  Not Gabby, he realized.  Frowning in concentration, he finally pinned the voice's owner down – Nikki Beaumont.  Or whatever her name was.

Slowing his steps, he stayed out of sight when he heard his name mentioned.

"…I thought he was supposed to be a hot-shot military man?  Special forces trained, right?"  Nikki's voice dripped contempt.  "Well, I'm not impressed, Gabrielle.  He screwed up, badly.  Because of him, Peter might _die_."

"Nikki, you don't know that," Gabrielle tried to reason.  "The doctors said–"

"To hell with the doctors!  You said yourself he's been shot in the chest – twice.  You know as well as I do what that means.  If Stone had been there, as planned, this wouldn't have happened!"

The ex-SEAL closed his eyes as Nikki's words pelted him like acid rain.  Turning back, he headed toward the bank of elevators.  He needed some fresh air.

He didn't see Nikki step out of the waiting room alcove and look around.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Alexander Addington tapped his cane impatiently against the floor of the elevator car.  Damned things never went fast enough when you needed them to.  His memory kept replaying the look on Helene Previn's face and her stricken tone of voice as she told him Peter had been taken to hospital after having been shot in the chest.  He strongly suspected it echoed his own.

_Dear God, please don't let him die!  He's the son I never had… my future._

Finally, the sixth floor.  The doors had barely opened before Addington squeezed through.  And found himself staring face to face with Hector Stone.

"Mr. Stone."  Glancing down the corridor toward the closed doors of the Surgery Ward, Alexander snapped, "Would you care to tell me just what the _hell_ happened here?  I thought you said everything was under control!  That the meet would go off like clockwork?"  He advanced on the younger man, backing Stone up against the wall.

"According to the information we had, it should've," the younger man growled.

"So are you saying this is Ms. Germont's fault?"

"No!  Gabby's source was solid.  She trusted him."

"Then what went wrong?" Alex asked silkily.  He tightened his grip on his cane, his eyes narrowing with anger.

"I'm not sure," the ex-SEAL admitted, unable to meet his employer's gaze.

"You're… not… sure."  Leaning heavily on the cane, Addington studied the American.  He could almost swear Stone considered himself guilty by the way the man avoided his gaze and kept shifting position.  "Meanwhile, Peter is in surgery, fighting for his life, and we're no closer to finding my wife than we were at this time yesterday!  I want some answers, Mr. Stone.  Soon."

"Believe me, sir, so do I."  With that, Stone pushed away from the wall, stepped around Addington and jabbed the elevator button.

"Where are you going?"

"Out."  Observing his answer didn't satisfy the older man, Stone clarified, "For some air."

"I see."

The ex-SEAL watched impassively as his employer stalked off down the hall.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Gabrielle looked up at the sound of limping footsteps approaching.  Pushing to her feet, she rushed to greet Alexander.  He held out his free arm, enfolding her in a brief, tight hug.

"Thank God you're here!" she breathed.

Nikki's greeting was a bit more subdued.  Reaching out her hand, she grasped Alexander's and pulled him close for a quick kiss on both cheeks.  "It's good to see you, sir, though the circumstances could be better."

Looking around, Gabrielle asked, "I thought J.J. would be with you."

"He's securing the plane.  Said he'd catch a taxi from the airport.  Has there been any word?" the industrialist asked, looking from one woman to the other.

Gabrielle shook her head, and Nikki replied, "Not yet."

"Damn!"  Pounding the floor with frustration, Addington looked back down the hall.

"Mr. Addington, have you seen Stone?" Gabrielle asked worriedly. 

Clearing his throat, the man nodded.  "I, uh, just saw him at the elevator.  Said he was heading out for some air."

The three headed for the alcove to continue their vigil.  Alexander and Nikki taking two seats next to each other, while Gabrielle chose to sit across from them.

"He shouldn't be alone," the blonde said, looking in the direction of the elevators.

"Why?"  Nikki stared at the other woman.  "He's a trained operative, right?  He can take care of himself."  Her tone dripped with sarcasm.

Alexander opened his mouth, but never got a chance to say anything as Gabrielle stood up and faced them.  "That's so easy for you to say, Nikki!  You don't know the first thing about Hector Stone.  He'd give his life for any of us.  Whatever happened out there, you can be sure of one thing, it _wasn't_ Stone's fault!"

Nikki looked unconvinced.

Addington joined the conversation.  "She's right.  Whatever Mr. Stone's faults, he'd never leave Peter in the lurch without a damned good reason."

"Good enough to sacrifice Peter's life?" the brunette wondered bitterly. 

"He apparently thought so," Gabrielle shot back.  To Addington, she added, "I'm going to look for him, make sure he's okay."

"Good idea," Alexander agreed, nodding.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The journalist sighed as she walked the path through the hospital's arboretum. _Stone could be anywhere in here!_   If he had even chosen to come this way.  And with dusk falling, he'd be even harder to spot.  Stopping where three paths intersected, she pondered which way to try next.

"You lookin' for me?" a deep voice growled from the shadows.

Gabrielle jumped, startled at first.  Turning, she relaxed as she spotted her teammate, lounging against a tree.  "Stone!  You scared me!"

He grinned.  "Sorry 'bout that."  Stepping away from the shadows, he joined her on the path.  "Any word yet?"

"No."  Gabrielle took several steps along the narrow path, glad when Stone fell in step beside her.  "I came to see how you were doing.  If you were okay?"

"I'm fine."  Realizing how curt he sounded, he blew out a deep breath and said,  "Look, Gabby… I, uh–"

"Stone, I don't know what happened today, but I _do_ know that you would do everything in your power to protect us."

"What makes you different?" he wondered aloud, a shadow of his usual half-grin playing around his lips.

"Sorry?"

Shaking his head, the ex-SEAL said, "Never mind, it's not important."

Rubbing her arms against the chill of dusk, Gabrielle nodded toward the building.  "Let's go back inside.  The others will be waiting."

"You go ahead."  At her questioning glance, he added, "I'll be in shortly.  Go on."

"You're sure?"  She grinned at his exasperated look.  "Okay!  If there's any word, where will you be?"

"Around."  At her exasperated look, he added, "I just need some time alone, Gabby.  I'll find you, trust me."

"All right.  But don't stay out here too long."  Lightly touching his arm, the blonde turned away, walking toward the hospital entrance.  It didn't feel right, leaving Stone outside, but she knew he preferred it that way.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Upon entering the hospital, Gabby strode to the bank of elevators.  She'd just pushed the button when she heard her name called.  Turning, she was relieved to see J.J. Johnson, Addington's pilot, striding toward her.  "J.J.–"

Hugging her, he asked, "How's Pete?  Any word?"

The elevator door opened and the two friends stepped inside.  Pressing the button for the sixth floor, Gabby said, "No.  Nothing yet."

"Where're you coming from?" the pilot wondered

"I was outside, talking with Stone.  He wanted to be on his own for awhile."

"Can't blame him," J.J. sympathized.  "He's gotta be taking this pretty hard."

"It seems so," she agreed.  "I've never seen him quite like this."

"He'll snap out of it, you wait and see.  Once Pete's out of the woods and on the road to recovery, Stone will be his normal, cheerful self."

"Cheerful?"  Gabrielle shot her companion a skeptical look.  "Are we talking about the same person?"  She grinned to show she didn't mean it.

"Cute."  J.J. returned the grin as they stepped out onto the sixth floor.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Stone watched Gabby re-enter the building before turning and continuing his walk.  A part of him wanted to stop, close his eyes and give in to the grief welling inside, but every time he shut his eyes he saw Pete, lying in a pool of his own blood.

_My fault!_ his mind kept shouting.  _I shoulda gotten there sooner._

"Damn it!" he hissed, kicking viciously at a rock in his path.  It startled a bird into squawking and taking flight.

"Sorry!" he called, feeling slightly ridiculous.

Waiting outside was obviously not helping.  He'd be better off back inside.  If not with the others, then nearby, so that when word came he'd know.

Five minutes later found him exiting the elevator, looking around cautiously to make sure no one he knew had spotted him.  He had no desire to face either Nikki or Addington right now.

There were some chairs along a side hallway, around the corner from the waiting room.  Perfect for keeping out of sight of the others and yet be able to keep an eye out for the doctor.

He had no idea how long he'd been sitting there when a volunteer handed him a cup of coffee.  For hospital brew, it wasn't bad and he smiled gratefully.  Checking his watch, he realized another hour had passed.

Setting the cup on the floor by his chair, he pushed to his feet to pace the hallway.  Wiping his sweaty palms against his jeans, he found himself wondering where he could go from here.  Ex-SEAL, ex-CIA, there were probably scores of operations out there who would gladly pay him handsomely to train men as mercenaries.  But that wasn't what he wanted to do.

Stone scrubbed his face wearily.  _Get through this first, pal.  Find out whether or not Pete's gonna be around to kick your ass before you try to decide what's next._

He didn't need to hear the words to know that Addington held him responsible for Pete's injury.  The old man doted on Sinclair.  Not that he went easy on Pete, usually just the opposite.  On more than one occasion Stone had sat back, secretly amused, as he watched the two go at it over some issue or another.  Better Pete than him, he'd always felt.

Now that might all be changed – permanently.

"Damn it!"  He punched his fist into the palm of his other hand.  If Pete did survive, how in the hell could he ever trust that this wouldn't happen again?  It was too much of a risk.

Before he could pursue that line of thinking, he heard a voice from around the corner asking for Alexander Addington.

"I'm Dr. Fletcher Collins.  I understand you're waiting for word on Peter Sinclair?"

Stone stepped into the hallway, looking toward the Surgery unit.  A tall, middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair stood at the alcove.

"Yes, I'm his employer, his friend.  How is he, Doctor?" Alexander asked after shaking hands with the man."

"Quite well, all things considered.  The bullets did extensive damage, but we were able to stop the bleeding and surgically repair the damage."

"Will he be all right?" Gabby's accented voice asked.

"I believe so," the surgeon responded.  "If he doesn't suffer any unexpected setbacks, he's got every chance of making a full recovery, albeit not a speedy one, you understand.  He'll require quite a bit of time to heal."

"But he _will_ heal," Alexander pressed.

Stone closed his eyes, holding his breath as he waited for the answer.

"There are always risks with injuries such as this, but your man seems to be a fighter.  I'd lay odds that he'll be up and around in no time."

"Thank you, Dr. Fletcher," Addington said.  "When can we see him?"

"I wouldn't think he'd be ready for visitors until tomorrow sometime.  Come back in the afternoon and we'll see how he's doing then."  Fletcher paused, then added, "If you'll excuse me, I have to check on one of my other patients, and then I'm heading home."

"Of course, Doctor."  Addington sounded relieved.  "Thank you, for everything."

Stone slipped back around the corner, leaning his head back against the wall. They'd done it again.  They'd cheated Death out of an early check-in.

Down the hall, he could hear Addington, Gabby and Nikki, all rejoicing over the good news.  While he ached to join them, he knew he wouldn't be welcomed.  After all, he'd caused the whole mess.

Making a decision, he headed for the elevator and stabbed the call button.  Tapping his foot impatiently, he watched the indicator slowly move toward the sixth floor.  Suddenly the walls felt as if they were closing in on him.  Looking around quickly, he spotted the stairs and bolted for them, heading down two at a time.

When he finally reached the exit, he pushed through, breathing in the late evening air with relief.  Taking several slow, deep breaths to clear his head, he decided to take a walk.  Maybe being away from the hospital would help him reach a decision about his future.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Relief swamped Gabrielle at the welcome news that Peter would be okay.  She exchanged grateful hugs with Nikki and Alexander, then looked around.  Odd.  Stone had said he'd be around, but she hadn't seen him.

"Where's Stone?" Alexander asked, his arm still around Nikki.

"I don't know," Gabrielle admitted.  Nikki looked as if she had something to say, but seeing the warning spark in the blonde's eyes, she kept silent.  "I'm going to find him, tell him the good news."

"Yes, by all means, do that."  The industrialist frowned.  "I'd still like to hear from him just how this happened."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Gabrielle searched the hospital's obvious waiting places thoroughly, even the roof.  Puzzled and a little concerned, she headed for the arboretum, softly calling out the ex-SEAL's name in the hopes he'd answer.  No luck anywhere.

"C'mon, Stone!" she whispered, heading back to the main entrance.  "Where are you?" 

She re-entered the building, re-checking the places she'd searched earlier.  Still nothing.  With a heavy heart, she took the elevator back up to her companions.

_I should have made him come back in with me earlier._   Except that she knew one didn't _make_ Hector Stone do anything he didn't want to do, unless you were Alexander Addington, or, perhaps, Peter Sinclair… on a good day.

Taking a deep breath as the car stopped on the sixth floor, she stepped out and walked slowly toward the alcove where Alexander and Nikki waited on a small sofa. J.J. had taken one of the nearby padded chairs.  Addington spotted her first, pushing to his feet and approaching, an anxious expression on his face as he realized she'd returned alone.

"Where is he?  Did you find him?" he asked.

"No.  He must have left the hospital."  Gabrielle waved a hand in frustration.

"You sure?" J.J. asked, getting to his feet as well.  "That's not like him.  Not without hearing about Pete first."

"I checked the arboretum, the waiting rooms on all the floors, the cafeteria, the trauma unit, even the roof," the blonde answered.  "Nothing.  It's as if he's disappeared."

"Damn!"  Addington tapped his cane hard on the floor.  "I would've thought that his time with the team might have cured his tendency toward being a loner."

"Really, Alexander," Nikki chided, rising to join them, "you make it sound as if it's easy to cast aside a lifetime of habit."

Breathing a deep sigh, the industrialist nodded as he conceded her point.  "I know.  But there for awhile, I really did hope–"

"I'm sure he just went out for a walk.  He'll be back soon," Gabrielle said, hoping her expression looked more encouraging than her words sounded, even to her own ears.

"That's probably true.  In the meantime, Ms. Germont, maybe you and I should head to the office.  I'd like to re-check those files, see if there's anything we missed.  I want these bastards brought to justice."

"If it's all right with you, I'd like to come along," Nikki said quietly.  "Perhaps there's some way I could be of assistance."

Alexander glanced at Gabrielle, who nodded.  He then looked at J.J.

The pilot shook his head.  "I think I'm going to stick around here for awhile.  Someone should be here if Stone comes back.  And in case Peter wakes up."

"Very well."  Alexander nodded.  "Ladies… shall we go?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

_Why is it everyone I've ever loved or cared about is dead or gone out of my life?_

The now-darkened night suited Stone's mood.  Digging his hands deep in his pockets, Hector Stone kept walking as he considered his life.  His closest childhood friend, Nick, had been placed in the witness protection program after agreeing to testify against corrupt city officials.  And even if Stone _could_ locate him, the other man certainly wouldn't want to have anything to do with him.

Likewise Angie.  She'd felt betrayed when he'd busted the mob protection ring that Nick had been involved with.  Stone had tried calling her just a couple weeks ago.  She'd spat out a string of obscenities, warned him not to bother her again and hung up.

Then there was Sam and his mom, the son and widow of an old buddy.  He'd given them his house in Philadelphia and kept in touch, taking Sam out to sports events when he could get time away.  But his mom had recently become engaged, and she asked Stone to give Sam some room to adjust to having another man around the house full-time.

_My life is so fucked up.  Why the hell do I keep trying?_ he wondered.

Stone paused, realizing that he'd lost track of how far he'd walked from the hospital.  Looking around and seeing the run-down buildings, he guessed pretty far.  No matter.  He could find his way back easily enough.  Taking another look around to get his bearings, he spotted a corner liquor store.

A drink sounded like a damned good idea right now.  He could've used one earlier this afternoon, while waiting for word on Pete.  Checking his wallet first, he entered the small store and quickly selected and paid for a bottle of whiskey.

Heading back out to the street, he walked down the block until he came to a dark alley.  The shadows would effectively hide him from prying eyes.  Perfect.  Checking to make sure no one was watching, he made his way through the trash-strewn street until he found a crate no one seemed to be using.  Climbing onto it, he made himself comfortable, leaning his back against the wall.

Opening the bottle and taking a sip, he felt the alcohol burn as it went down. He deserved the pain.

_C'mon, Stone.  You don't really believe that!_

But he did.  Why else would he be alone in this world?  His parents were long gone and he had no family that he knew about, or who had ever bothered to claim him.

His SEAL buddies, the closest thing he'd ever had to a family, were all dead.  Killed by a crooked cover-up.  He should've died with them.  Then today wouldn't have happened and Pete–

_Pete_.  The name twisted in his gut like a knife.  He took a long swig of the whiskey in an attempt to drown it out.  It didn't help.  He kept seeing the stunned look on Pete's face as he went down, and the bloodstain, spreading across his friend's chest.

Even though he'd heard the news that Pete would likely pull through, it didn't erase the fact that the man had nearly died today.  And it certainly didn't erase the fact that Stone had been directly responsible.  He hadn't been there to cover Sinclair's back.

Like he hadn't been there for Vicky when she'd needed him most, and many a night her face still haunted his dreams.  Shutting his eyes, Stone gulped more of the whiskey down.  On the closed screen of his eyelids, he could still see Vicky as he'd found her, bruises mottling the fair skin of her neck.  She'd still been warm.  That hurt the most; that he'd most likely been in the building, on his way up in the elevator, when she'd died.  He'd been so close, and yet it had been a lifetime too long for Vicky.

Taking another deep swig from the bottle, Stone began to feel a light buzz.  He tried to remember the last time he'd tied one on.  Finally it came to him; ironically, it had been after they'd tied up the Nova business in Philly.

Although he couldn't tell Gabby and Pete, it had hurt like hell to know he'd lost all ties with his childhood.  There really was no going back now.  If Angie didn't kill him on sight, there were still plenty of Nick's friends still walking around who would be more than happy to do it for her.

In an effort to drown that pain, he'd locked himself in his Paris apartment and proceeded to try drinking himself into oblivion.  He never knew what had clued Pete in, but the other man had arrived the next morning, on a supposed day off, pounding on the door with enough force to rattle the walls.  Stone heard it through his drunken fog, but ignored the noise, hoping it would go away.

"It" being Pete, hadn't taken the hint.  Rather, the former detective had opened the door with a spare key he'd obtained from Ms. Previn.

The next few hours were forever lost to Stone.  But as his head cleared, he could recall one thing – Pete's constant presence.  The Brit had listened to his broken ramblings, held his head as he'd puked, cleaned him up and put him to bed.  And the following morning, he'd calmly announced that if Stone ever did anything of the sort again, he'd nail his sorry ass to the wall and leave it there.

Then he'd brewed a fresh pot of coffee, poured two cups and pulled up a seat directly across from the ex-SEAL.  Leaning close, he'd handed over a cup, and set about convincing Stone he no longer had only his own wits to carry him through.

A large black rat chattered at him from the ground, rebuking him, perhaps, for invading its space.  The dark-haired man ignored it, downing more whiskey as that long-ago conversation with Pete played through his mind.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

_"I know that right now things look pretty bleak, Stone.  And nothing I say at this moment is going to change that–"_

_"Then why bother?"_

_Pete ignored the challenging tone, only saying, "They might have been your family at one time, Sport, but I think you've grown past them.  You've got another family now – if you're strong enough to reach out."  With that, the Brit had climbed to his feet and headed to the door.  "We're here, if you need us."_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Stone laughed hollowly at the memory, startling his rodent companion into flight. It had seemed true, at least for a while.  He'd let his guard down, and let Gabby and Pete in.  And look where it'd gotten him.  Pete shot, nearly dead.  _Some "brother" I turned out to be, huh, Pete?  I let you down.  Guess if I get drunk, no one's gonna nail my ass to the wall this time._

He lifted the bottle for another swig, then cursed as he realized he'd already finished it off.  _And I ain't nearly drunk enough yet.  I need another one…_

Carefully climbing down from his crate, he made his way back to the corner store.  He still had the empty bottle in his hand, not even realizing it until he went to reach for the door.  Looking down at the glass bottle in confusion, he shrugged, then tucked it under his arm.  He'd throw it away inside.

He had a bit more trouble locating the whiskey the second time, but he finally found it.  Carefully grabbing another full bottle off the shelf, he made his way back to the counter, setting both bottles down in front of the clerk.

The middle-aged man shot Stone a weary look.  "You buying the empty one, too, mister?"

"Yeah."  The ex-SEAL grinned, all teeth.  "If you're refilling, that is."  As he reached for his wallet, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.  Turning slightly, he watched as a young man entered the store.  Dressed in tattered jeans, a filthy, once-white shirt and a shabby overcoat that had definitely seen better days, he fit well with the surrounding neighborhood.

Stone turned back to the cashier, waiting for the man to give him the total.  When the silence continued, he looked up, trying to figure out the problem.  The expression on the cashier's face registered at the same time as the click of the safety being released on a Beretta nine milimeter.

"Okay, everybody freeze!  This is a stick-up."  Pointing the gun at the cashier, the kid snarled, "You!  Empty the register.  _Now!_ "

"Son of a bitch," the man muttered, doing as instructed.  "This is the second time in a goddamned week."

Adrenaline cleared some of the haze from Stone's mind.  He carefully gauged the distance needed to reach the empty whiskey bottle.  He could do it.  All he needed was a little distraction.

As if on cue, the kid snapped, "C'mon, old man!  I ain't got all day here!"  He raised the gun a little higher, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Stone lunged for the bottle.  He lobbed it at the kid, hitting his arm and knocking his aim wild.  In the same instant, the cashier ducked behind the counter and hit the panic button.

The would-be robber recovered fast, switching his aim to Stone.  The inebriated ex-SEAL couldn't compensate and he had nothing else with which to defend himself.  In the split second before the gun went off, he wondered if Pete had seen his own death coming with such clarity.

He felt pressure, but no pain, as the bullet hit.  Then, welcome blackness.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

As the cab carried her to the hospital, Gabrielle watched the passing city without really seeing it.  She couldn't stop thinking about Stone and where he could be.  Alexander's initial ire at his absence had faded into distinct worry when a telephone call to J.J. revealed that the American had failed to return.

She'd tried again, before leaving the office, to suggest that he'd just gone for a walk and would be back any moment.  This time Addington had shook his head in disagreement.

"No, I think not, Ms. Germont.  He and I exchanged words earlier.  I'm afraid I wasn't particularly supportive."

A flicker of guilt had passed over Nikki's face.  Knowing the others had seen it, she sighed heavily.  "I was not altogether complimentary of Mr. Stone's character, either.  I was too worried about Peter."

"And?"  Alexander had tapped his cane impatiently, sensing where this was heading.

"And I'm sure he heard me," the former cat-burglar admitted.  "I saw him walking toward the elevator not long afterward."

"My God, what a mess we've made of this," the industrialist sighed.  "Short of putting out an all-points bulletin, I suppose we have no choice but to wait for him to come to his senses."

But that had been hours ago. 

And the trip to the office hadn't turned up anything useful.  Not that anyone really expected it would.  Still, at the very least it had kept them occupied for awhile.

"Mercy Hospital, ma'am."

The cab driver's voice startled her back to the present.  She climbed out of the taxi and reached through the window to pay the driver.  "Keep the change."

Staring at the hospital, a sense of foreboding chilled her spine.  She shrugged it off.  After all, if Peter's condition had changed, J.J. would've called.

Technically, she wasn't due to relieve J.J. for another twenty minutes, but she'd had nothing to do at the office but pace, and that she could do just as easily at the hospital.

As the driver pulled away from the curb, the wail of an approaching ambulance could be heard.  _Another poor soul,_ she mused.  Not to mention the pain of the family and friends.  She slowly approached the Emergency entrance, morbid curiosity and journalistic instinct getting the best of her.

But as she drew closer, the curiosity swiftly turned to apprehension as she got a glimpse of unshaved features and short, curly, dark hair.  _No… it can't be!_  But as they wheeled the man past, she gasped, covering her mouth to keep from crying out.  She recognized the sweater the man was wearing as one J.J. had given to Stone for his birthday last year.  Only now it had been cut down the middle, the blood-soaked edges dangling loosely.  One of the EMT's had climbed on top of Stone, performing CPR on the unconscious man.

Trembling now, she followed the gurney inside.  She could see another gurney being wheeled ahead of Stone.  It turned into another treatment room.

One of the police officers who had accompanied the ambulance noticed her.  Putting out an arm to block her progress, he said, "I'm afraid you'll have to stay back, ma'am."  Noting her distress, he gently took her arm and steered her toward some chairs.  "Are you okay?"

"That man–"  Gabby found she had to gulp in a lungful of air before she could continue.  "His name is Hector Stone.  He's a friend of mine.  What happened?"

"Your friend's a pretty brave man, ma'am; stopped a robbery in progress.  Listen, stick around.  One of the other officers is going to want to talk to you.  I have to stay with the suspect."  With a look of regret, the man moved off, heading into the first treatment room.

"But–"  Realizing that she was talking to empty air, Gabrielle turned and paced the hallway.  Time lost all meaning as she anxiously waited for word on Stone.

As she turned and walked the hall again, the blonde tried to make some sense out of the day's events.  She found it impossible.  _My God, when did things get so out of control?  This has to be a nightmare that I'll wake up from_.  Glancing at her watch, she realized that nearly three-quarters of an hour had passed since they'd brought Stone in.

"Excuse me, I was told you might have some information on one of the shooting victims?" a deep male voice asked.

Gabrielle turned, seeing a red-haired man wearing street clothes.  "Who are you?"

"I'm Detective Shane McCormack, Metro Division," the man answered, pulling out a gold shield for her inspection.  "Can we talk?"

Relieved at the prospect of finally getting some information, the blonde nodded.  "How can I help you?"

"I tried calling Mr. Stone's emergency contact."  The detective looked at his notepad, double-checking the information.  "A… Peter Sinclair?  I'm not getting any answer.  Do you know him?"

To her dismay, tears once again filled Gabrielle's eyes.  "Yes, I do.  We all… work together.  You couldn't reach Peter because he's also a patient here."

"He is?"  McCormack made no effort to hide his surprise.  "Dangerous jobs you folks have.  Mind telling me what you do?"

"We're security specialists, with Addington International."

"Adding–  As in _the_ Alexander Addington?"  The detective made a notation in his book.  "I heard he's put together a team of operatives."

"Please, can you tell me what happened to Stone?" Gabrielle pleaded.

"Of course, the store owner witnessed the whole thing.  According to him, your friend got caught in the middle of an armed robbery.  He saved the owner's life.  But, unfortunately, he wasn't so lucky himself.  He took a bullet in the chest at close range."

Numb, the journalist managed to ask, "Where did this happen?"

"A liquor store down on Fifth."  The cop grimaced.  "We see way too much of this sort of thing in that neighborhood."

"A liquor store…?"  She shook her head, confused.  "What was he doing there?"

"Owner said he'd been drinking.  But even drunk, he managed to stop the asshole and save a guy's life."

"Drunk?  You're sure?"

"From what the owner said, yeah.  He bought a bottle of whiskey from the same store less than an hour before the robbery occurred.  He came in for another one, and I guess that's when all hell broke loose."

"This can't be happening."  Realizing that she'd spoken aloud, Gabby shut her mouth.  _Oh, Stone, did you even wait around to hear that Peter's going to be all right?_   Tears welled in her eyes.

"Ma'am?"  Concerned, the detective lightly touched her arm.  "Is there anyone I can call for you?"

Snapping back to the present, the blonde shook her head quickly.  "No.  I'll take care of contacting our friends.  But would you please let the medical staff know I'm here?  In case there's word–"

"Sure."  Pushing to his feet, the cop said, "Your friend's some kind of hero, ma'am.  Crazy, maybe, but not lacking in guts, that's for sure."

"Yes, some kind of hero," she echoed bitterly, also getting up from her chair.  "If you'll please excuse me, I need to make a phone call."

Pointing down the corridor, the officer said, "Down the hall to the left you'll find a pay phone."

"Thanks," she said, giving him a half-hearted smile.  Before she called Alexander, she had to call J.J. and let him know why she hadn't relieved him yet.

Stepping over to the nurses' station, she said, "May I please borrow your phone? I need to call Room 610."

"Of course."  The nurse moved the phone to the counter for easier access.  "Just dial the room number."

Gabby did as instructed and the phone was picked up on the second ring.  "Hello?"

"J.J., it's Gabrielle."  The journalist had to pause to collect herself.

"Hey, Gabby!  What's up?"  Not waiting for a response, the pilot continued, "I hope you're on your way soon, 'cause I'm so hungry I'm about ready to call out for pizza!"

"Yeah.  I'm downstairs–"  Tears welled in the blonde's eyes and she pulled out a handkerchief, delicately blowing her nose.

"Hey!" J.J. said, sounding worried.  "Gabrielle, what's up?  Pete's doing fine, y'know?  I mean, the doc said–"

"It's not Peter," she told him.  "It's Stone."

"Stone?" J.J. queried.  His tone hardened.  "You mean he still hasn't turned up yet?"

"J.J.–"  She took a deep breath, then said, "He's been shot.  They brought him in nearly an hour ago."

"Shot!  Where the hell are you?"

"I'm down in the Emergency Room."

"Okay.  Have you called Mr. Addington yet?"

"No.  I wanted to let you know where I was."

"Call him now.  I'll be right down."  The connection abruptly ended.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Gabrielle had just hung up the phone after speaking with Alexander when she heard someone clearing his throat behind her.  She turned, and finding J.J., she reached out to embrace him.  They held each other tightly for several seconds, each drawing comfort from the other's presence.

The pilot finally took a step back, still keeping hold of Gabrielle's arms.  "What happened?  Do you know?"

She nodded.  "He was trying to prevent a robbery."

"Damn.  Isn't one of them in the hospital enough?" the black man wondered sarcastically.

"Tell me about it."

"How bad is he hit?"

Tears once again flooded the journalist's eyes as she admitted, "It's bad, J.J.  They were giving him CPR when they brought him in."

"Damn."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Alexander Addington was sure the frantic beating of his heart could be heard by all as he stormed through the doors of the Emergency Room.  A startled nurse jumped back out of his way.  Nikki, following in his wake, hurriedly apologized.  She found herself nearly running to keep up with her ex-employer.

Spotting Gabrielle and J.J. down the hall, Alexander limped toward them.  "Gabrielle!  Have you heard anything yet?"

The blonde journalist turned, startled by the sound of his voice.  Shaking her head, she said, "No.  There's been no word."

"How did this happen?" he growled.  "How the _hell_ could he have let this happen?"

Knowing the man really didn't expect an answer to that, his companions remained silent.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Larry Westin hurried into the Emergency Room and headed straight for the nurses desk.  Clearing his throat to get the nurse's attention, he then said, "Excuse me, but I'm looking for information on a guy who was brought in earlier.  I don't know his name, but he was shot in the chest during a robbery.  Can you help me?"

Pointing down the hall, the gray-haired woman said, "His friends are just down the hall–"

"Thanks."  The heavyset man wiped his hands on his jeans before walking off in the direction indicated.  He slowed his steps as he approached a small group of people.  Taking a deep breath, he asked, "Are you folks waiting for word on the guy that was shot at the liquor store earlier?"

A distinguished looking, gray-haired man turned, leaning heavily on a cane.  "We are.  Who might you be, sir?"

Westin tensed at the words, although the tone didn't sound challenging, only inquisitive.  "My name's Larry Westin.  I own and run the store where your friend got shot."  To his surprise, the distinguished gentleman reached out and shook his hand.

"I'm Alexander Addington.  Mr. Stone works for me.  And allow me to introduce two of my other employees, Gabrielle Germont and J.J. Johnson.  And this is Nikki Beaumont, a former employee."

"Pleased to meet you all," Westin said, nodding at them.  "What're you guys, private detectives or something?  I mean, what happened in my store… I never saw anything like it in my life.  Most guys would've never interfered, let alone put their own lives on the line."

"No, not detectives.  More like security specialists."  A small smile flitted across Addington's face.  "And that sounds like our Mr. Stone.  Angels fear to tread, I'm afraid."

The store owner nodded.  "Will he be okay?  It looked pretty serious when they took him outta the store."

"He's– The doctors are still working on him," Gabby said, trying not to allow herself to dwell on how Stone had looked when she'd seen him.  "We're still waiting for word."

As if on cue, the doors to the Trauma Unit opened and a weary-looking man in green scrubs stepped into the hallway.  He removed a surgical cap, revealing curly dark hair that matched the beard stubble shadowing his face.  Seeing the small group of people, he rubbed his hands over his face, then walked over to join them.

"Are you the folks waiting for word on a Mr. Stone?"  He studied them curiously.  None of them looked like they could claim family ties, although either of the women could be a girlfriend or a wife, he supposed.

Addington stepped forward.  "We are.  How is he, Doctor?"

"Oh.  Sorry.  I'm Dr. Paul.  And your friend's not in very good shape, I'm afraid.  The bullet that struck him is still lodged in his chest."

"Can't you remove it?" J.J. asked, voicing everyone's thoughts.

"Under normal circumstances, yes, we could," the surgeon said.  "But Mr. Stone's prior condition makes the risk too high to gamble." 

"What prior condition?" Alexander snapped.

"Your friend had a blood alcohol level well above the level of legal intoxication when he was brought in," Dr. Paul explained.  "This could create all manner of complications during surgery."

"Blood alcohol level?  He's been drinking?" Addington snapped.

"Yes, quite recently and fairly heavy."

"So, what are you doing for him?" Gabrielle demanded.

"About all we can do at this point is pump him full of fluids and blood to keep him hydrated.  The bleeding's presently under control.  I'm afraid it's a waiting game now."

"Waiting game for what?" J.J. asked. 

Dr. Paul hesitated a moment, then said, "We have to hope that his blood alcohol level comes down to a safe level before he starts to hemorrhage internally."

"I see," Addington said, his expression somber.

"I'm sorry.  I wish I'd been able to give you better news," the surgeon responded. "We'll be moving your friend to ICU so he can be monitored.  I'll alert the surgical ward so they can have a team on standby."

"Thank you, Dr. Paul.  We appreciate your efforts on his behalf."  Alexander reached out to shake the other man's hand.

"I'll have someone let you know when Mr. Stone's been moved," the doctor said, returning the handshake.  He nodded to the others, then walked back into the Trauma ward.

Westin cleared his throat as the doctor moved away.  "Uh, listen, I'm going to head home.  I called my wife earlier, but it's been a long night and she'll be worrying now.  If it's okay with you, I'd like to check in with you guys tomorrow, see how Mr. Stone's doing."  He shrugged, feeling a little out of place.  "I mean, I owe the guy my life, y' know?"

"Of course," Alexander assured the store owner.  "I think Mr. Stone would appreciate it."

"Good.  Nice to meet you all."  Westin nodded to the small group of friends, then walked away toward the exit.

"Looks like we've got a long wait ahead of us," J.J. mused after the other man disappeared from sight.

"Indeed."  Addington quickly took in the somber faces of his companions.  "And I suspect none of us has eaten a decent meal since, well, in far too long.  J.J., why don't you and Gabrielle see what you can come up with in the way of a palatable meal, and perhaps some coffee, eh?  'Food' is a loose term for what they serve in most hospital cafeterias.  Nikki, why don't you go up and check on Peter?  I want to make some phone calls – to be sure that Stone and Peter are getting the best of care."

"Mr. Addington, I'd prefer to stay here with you, if that's all right," Gabrielle requested.  "Just in case–"

The industrialist nodded.  "Certainly.  We'll meet in the waiting room up on Peter's floor."

As the other two moved off on their assigned tasks, Addington turned to Gabrielle.  "You didn't mention that Mr. Stone had been drinking, Ms. Germont."

Shaking her head in frustration, the journalist said, "It didn't occur to me.  The police officer mentioned it when Stone was brought in, but I didn't think about how it could affect his treatment."

Alexander nodded.  "I understand.  It's been a very stressful time for all of us."  Lightly grabbing her elbow, he said, "Come on, let's see if they've moved him yet.  And then I want to make that call."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Twenty minutes later, they met J.J. and Nikki.  The pilot offered his news first.  "I called Pedro's.  They should be delivering in the next half-hour."

"Good."  Addington nodded.  "Stone has been moved to the Pre-op Unit.  While we were waiting, I called an old friend of mine, Kevin Meckis.  He's a renowned thoracic surgeon, who works out of Meadow Glen Hospital, across town.  He's agreed to take on Stone's case.  He's on his way as we speak."

"Any word on Peter?" Gabrielle asked Nikki.

"Yes," the brunette answered.  "The nurse told me that he's been drifting in and out of consciousness for the past hour.  I asked about visits, but only immediate family is allowed in."

"We _are_ his family, damn it," Alexander growled, tapping his cane to emphasize his words.

"That's what I told her," Nikki grinned smugly.

Looking around the small lounge they'd taken over, Addington spotted a phone and stalked over to it.  Dialing a number, he waited as it rang, then said, "Dr. Carlton Wills, please.  Yes, I'll hold."  A moment later, "Carlton!  It's Alexander…  Yes, I'm fine.  Look, one of my employees is a patient here, a Peter Sinclair.  Actually, two of my men are here.  I'm calling in a favor.  I want you to extend visiting privileges to me and my people…  No, neither man has family in the area…  That's right…  No, I assure you, we'll be no bother.  Thank you, Carl.  It's appreciated…  All right, lunch it is.  Call Bennett, he'll set it up."  Hanging up the phone, Addington turned back to his companions.  "All right, that's settled.  Once we've had our meal, we should be able to look in on Peter.  But we're under strict orders not to disturb him."

The lounge room door opened, admitting a young redheaded woman carrying two large paper bags.  "Excuse me, but is one of you a… Mr. Addington?"

"I am."  Alexander had turned upon hearing the door open and now approached the woman.  "You must be from Pedro's?"

"That's right."  She smiled, showing a dimple in her left cheek.  "You must have some pull with my boss.  We don't deliver very often, and definitely not to hospitals."

"We're old friends," the industrialist stated, reaching for his wallet.

Gabrielle and Nikki, being the closest, relieved the woman of her burden and began unloading the bags on the table.  Disposable yet sturdy place settings and plastic ware had also been packed for them.

"No."  The woman shook her head, holding her hand out to stop Addington.  "There's no charge for this.  Charlie said you were friends in need, and that he owes you this much."

Alexander dipped his head.  "Give him our thanks, and tell him one day soon we'll visit the restaurant for dinner – as paying customers.  And at least let me compensate you for the trip."  As she opened her mouth, Addington held up his hand.  "I sincerely hope you aren't about to protest?  Because that might offend me, and Charlie wouldn't like that, either."

Again, the dimpled smile.  "Okay, if you insist!"  Nevertheless, her eyes widened as she took the bill he handed her.  "Thanks!"  She got as far as the door, then turned back, expression sober.  "I hope your friend's going to be okay."

"Thank you."  Addington didn't see the need to tell her they were now waiting for word on two patients. 

The woman nodded, then walked out the door.

Alexander turned back to his companions to find the table set.  His stomach rumbled as he smelled the tantalizing odors wafting from the cartons of food.  Come to think of it, he couldn't recall when he'd last eaten.  _Breakfast_ , he thought.

Seeing that they were waiting for him, Addington clapped his hands sharply.  "All right, let's eat while the food's still hot.  We wouldn't want to waste all Charlie's efforts, now would we?"  He walked over to the table, pulling out a chair and indicating that Nikki should have a seat.

J.J. followed his example, holding out a second chair for Gabrielle.  She slipped into it, shaking out her napkin and placing it over her lap.

The friends ate in silence.  The food, though excellent, couldn't take them away from the fact that they were eating in a hospital conference room, waiting for news on not one but two wounded companions.

They were cleaning the remains of the meal when the door opened, and a nurse stepped into the room.  "You're here for Peter Sinclair, right?"

"That's right."  Nikki pushed to her feet.  "How is he?"

"He's awake, but very agitated.  He keeps asking for someone named Stone.  Is one of you called that?"  The nurse looked over the room's occupants.

Alexander cleared his throat. "Uh, Mr. Stone isn't available at the moment.  However, I don't think Peter will take very kindly to that answer.  Perhaps it would be better if I went with you and told him myself."

"I'm willing to give it a try," the nurse said, opening the door.  "Mr. Sinclair is very weak, this kind of excitement isn't doing him any good."

Nodding to J.J. and the women, Addington said, "I'll be back as soon as I can."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

As they approached Peter's room, the nurse cautioned, "He looks pretty rough.  But all things considered, he's doing very well.  Just don't tire him out."

Addington nodded.  "This isn't the first time one of my men's been in the hospital. I'll take care."  And with that he pushed through the door.  For all his words, he realized that one never gets used to the sight of someone in the hospital.

Peter lay, surrounded by tubes and wires, the functions of which Alexander could only hazard a guess.  The injured man's eyes were closed, giving the impression that he slept.

As Addington debated leaving, Sinclair rasped, "'Bout time, Sport.  Thought you… weren't going to show."

That woke Alexander's sense of humor.  "I don't recall giving you leave to call me 'Sport', Mr. Sinclair."

Peter's eyelids flew open and he stammered, "Alexander– you didn't– that is– I thought–"

"Relax, Peter," the industrialist said, waving it aside.  "I was only pulling your leg."

"Lousy thing to do… to an injured man," Sinclair groused.

"I know."  Addington leaned heavily on his cane as he approached the bed.

"Stone.  Where is he?  The nurses… won't tell me."  Peter shifted restlessly in the bed, gasping as pain lanced through him.  "Did they… get him, too?  My God, how bad?  Sir… how bad?"

The older man sighed heavily.  "It's not what you think, Peter.  But Stone _is_ a patient here as well."

"What the hell… happened?" Sinclair demanded.

"Apparently, our Mr. Stone stumbled onto a robbery in progress," Addington said. "He saved the owner, but he managed to get himself shot in the process."

"Bloody sod."  Peter closed his eyes briefly, but they snapped open as he realized, "You haven't said how he is."  When it looked like his employer might not answer, he rasped, "He's dead… is that it?  Oh God–"

"No."  The industrialist shook his head vehemently.  "He's not dead, Peter.  His condition is serious, though."

"You wouldn't… lie to me…"  The drugs were making it difficult to concentrate, and Peter found himself struggling to focus on Addington.

"If you weren't under the influence of drugs, Peter Sinclair, I might be offended at that remark," Alexander chided gently.  "I wouldn't lie to you about something like this.  Mr. Stone _is_ alive."  _For now,_ he found himself thinking. 

"Better… stay that way," the injured man mumbled as he slipped back into drugged oblivion.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

J.J. watched Gabrielle pace the small conference room.  She'd started soon after Mr. Addington had left to see Peter.  Nikki, on the other hand, sat on one of the sofas.  She'd taken her shoes off and now had her feet tucked under her.  She looked up occasionally as the journalist passed by, but whatever her thoughts were, she kept them private.

"Gabby, why don't you sit down for awhile?" J.J. finally suggested.  "Wearing yourself out isn't going to do either one of them any good."  He shook his head.  "Man, having one of them in the hospital is bad enough, but both of them?  Wonder what the hell Stone was doing in that part of town, anyway."

That finally got a response from Gabrielle.  She whirled to face the pilot.  "Trying to get himself killed, I would think!"

"What?"  J.J. looked up, shocked.  "Gabrielle, that's crazy!  Stone's not suicidal." He ruthlessly shoved aside the all-too-vivid memories of the ex-SEAL with a bomb strapped to his chest, waiting for a female terrorist to hand over the antidote to a poison wreaking havoc on Peter's system.

"No?  How can you be so sure, J.J.?" the blonde woman wondered.  "After all, how well do any of us know Stone?"

J.J. was spared answering when the door opened to admit Addington.  He met the three expectant gazes evenly.

"How is Peter?" Nikki asked when it appeared no one else would.

"Doing well, given the circumstances.  He was… understandably upset over hearing about Stone's injury."  Limping over to the nearest chair, Alexander lowered himself into it with a weary sigh.

"How much did you tell him?" Gabrielle wondered.

Addington's sharp eyes narrowed.  "Only that he'd been involved in a robbery attempt, and that he'd been wounded playing hero.  I didn't think he needed to hear that, at this point, Stone's in worse shape than he is."

"He'll make it," J.J. said.  He hoped his tone sounded more convincing to the others than it did in his own ears.  "They both will."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

_"Pete!  Hey, Pete!  Over here, buddy."_

_Sinclair looked around, not recognizing his surroundings.  It didn't seem to be the hospital.  But then, where…_

_"Never mind the details, Pete.  Geez, they'll be the death of you someday."_

_That voice…  It couldn't be!  Whirling to locate the source, the ex-detective blinked as he finally spotted the speaker.  "Luke?"_

_"In the flesh," the man grinned impudently, spreading his arms wide.  "How ya doin', Sinclair?"_

_"Not good, obviously," Peter snapped.  "If I can see you, that must mean I'm–"_

_"Uh-huh."  Wagging a finger in warning, Luke continued, "Shouldn't say that word in your dreams, man, could have dire consequences."_

_"Dream?"  Sinclair looked around, still unable to pinpoint his nebulous surroundings.  Eyes narrowing, he asked, "Are you sure?"_

_"Hey.  I never lied to you, Pete, at least not intentionally."  Approaching his ex-teammate, the mercenary said, "Rough day, huh?"_

_Still not trusting the circumstances, Sinclair nodded.  "And not only me.  Alexander just told me that Stone, one of the new teammates, has also been shot.  By the sound of Addington's voice, it's pretty serious."_

_"Ah, that's really lousy," Luke said sympathetically.  "Sorry to hear that, Pete."_

_"I don't want to lose another partner!"  Sinclair punched the air in frustration. "It was bad enough losing you."_

_"Yeah, I know."  For once, the younger man chose not to hide behind his armor of jokes.  "Maybe that's why we're having this conversation now."_

_"Why?  Can you do something to help Stone?"  Peter stepped forward eagerly.  "Please, Luke.  If there's anything, any way…"_

_"I can't make any promises, Pete.  It ain't that easy over here."  Reaching out, Luke clasped hands with his friend in a firm handshake.  "But I think I might have some pull.  Get some rest.  Let me worry about it for awhile."_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Peter woke with a gasp, his heart pounding.  He looked around cautiously, realizing that he was still in his hospital room.  _A dream, it was all a dream._   Well, how else could he have seen Luke Brenner?  As always, his throat tightened at the thought of his former teammate.

Sinclair closed his eyes again, hissing in frustration.  _Damn it, Stone.  Don't you quit on us, you hear me?  I don't think I could take losing another partner to a hero complex!_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Gabrielle looked around the room at her companions.  They all sat in various stages of relaxation, or so it appeared to her.  But the inactivity grated on her nerves.  Waiting here, tucked away from both Stone and Peter, frustrated her.  The active imagination that drove a keen journalistic mind made for a double-edged sword in these circumstances.  She found herself conjuring up scenarios in which one or both of her teammates didn't survive.

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I can't stay here any longer."  Gabrielle headed for the door.  "I'm going to see if I can look in on Stone."

Addington looked up, startled at first.  Then a determined expression crossed his face.  "I believe I'll join you, Ms. Germont."  Turning to the other two, he asked, "Are you two coming with us?"

Nikki shook her head.  "No, at least not me.  I believe it would be better if I checked on Peter.  Perhaps they'll let me in for a moment."

J.J. looked at Nikki, then at Addington and Gabrielle.  He felt torn, wanting to find out about Stone, but also not wanting to abandon Nikki.

She easily interpreted his expression.  "It's okay, J.J.  I don't know Stone very well.  And this way, if Peter does wake up, I can keep him company."

"All right, Nikki.  If you're sure?" Addington prompted.  "You're more than welcome to come with us, you know."

"I know," the former team member acknowledged.  "Please, go ahead.  I'll meet up with you later."

With a nod, Alexander and the others left the room.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

After inquiring at the nurses' station, the team took the elevator to the surgical floor.  They'd been told that was also where the pre-operative care unit was located.

As they got off the elevator, they found the patients' rooms on the floor had windows in the walls facing a centrally located nursing desk.  It didn't take long to find their friend.  With his condition so serious, they'd put him as close to the nursing desk as possible.

The nurse on duty looked up when she heard them.  With a slight frown, she asked, "Can I help you?  Visitors aren't usually allowed on this floor."

"I assure you, we have no intention of disrupting the routine, Nurse," Alexander assured as he reached the desk.  "We were just hoping to see him–"

" _Mon dieu!_ " Gabrielle hissed, staring in at their injured friend.  "Oh, Hector."

"Damn," J.J. whispered, one hand resting on the glass window.

Addington joined them, getting his first look at Stone.  "Dear Lord."  Further words wouldn't move past the lump in his throat.

Stone looked more dead than alive, his cheeks sunken in a colorless face.  Crimson-stained bandages wrapped his chest, and the multitude of wires and tubes made Addington cringe.  A respirator forced air in and out of the man's lungs.

"How much longer can he last without surgery?" Alexander demanded of the nurse.

"We're not really sure," she admitted. 

"But it won't be much longer."  Dr. Paul approached them, a clipboard in his hand.  "His vitals are slipping.  Soon we won't have a choice, we'll have to operate and get that bullet out."

"What are his chances?" Gabrielle asked, wiping away a tear from the corner of her eye.

"It's risky," the doctor admitted.  "But he'll have no hope of survival if we do nothing."

The three companions exchanged worried looks.  Addington limped back to stare through the window.  _My fault_.  He leaned his forehead wearily against the cold glass.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

_Jesus, what the hell hit me?_   Stone tried to sort through the memories of the past couple of days, searching for the source of the pain now consuming him. _Pete was hurt!  Maybe they got me, too?  No, that's not right.  Something else._

Flashes of conversation floated through his mind.  Overhearing Nikki and Gabrielle.  Mr. A holding him responsible for Pete's injuries.  The store owner's complaints as the robber held him at gunpoint.

_Gunpoint!_   That was it.  _That bastard punk in the liquor store shot me!  Must still be there.  Hope help gets here soon… chest really hurts!  Getting hard… to breathe, too.  Damn!  Pete's gonna… kill me…  Wish I'd…. had time for that… second bottle.  Might've taken… edge off…  Shit!_ The pressure intensified to the point that his vision misted over.

And just as suddenly… nothing.  No pain.  No difficulty breathing.  Just utter serenity.

_Blinking several times, he saw walls coming into focus.  One had a glass window, and through it he could see Addington, Gabrielle and J.J.  Their faces were locked in expressions of horror, and he whirled, wondering at the cause.  What he saw made his breath catch._

_A medical team swarmed around a man, attaching leads and checking instruments.  Moments later, the man they were working on arched upward as current flooded through him._

_Walking toward the table, Stone swallowed hard.  Why am I here?  Why hasn't anyone kicked me out?  I shouldn't be here.  Walking over to the door, the ex-SEAL frowned as he couldn't seem to grasp the handle.  What the hell?  He tried again, only to have his hand pass through the handle.  And, in fact, through the door!_

_Turning back, he got his first good look at the man on the gurney.  Whoa!  This is some kind of bad dream.  Or an alcohol-induced delusion or something!But as many times as he blinked, each time he opened his eyes, he found himself staring at his own face on the gurney._

_And then the scene shifted.  Looking around, Stone realized that the room seemed to be getting fuzzy around the edges._

_"Psst.  Hey, buddy.  You're playing a risky game, y' know."_

_Dropping into a defensive crouch, Stone looked around until he located the source of the voice coming from behind him.  He relaxed as he recognized the man from pictures in Pete's apartment._

_"Luke… right?"_

_"Got it in one," the other man said._

_"And what game am I playing?" Stone asked with a raised eyebrow._

_"Risk.  And don't cop the innocent attitude, man."  Annoyance filled Luke's tone.  "It don't work over here."_

_"Lemme tell ya something, pal.  I don't even know where 'here' is!" the ex-SEAL snapped._

_"Okay, I'll explain it real slow.  I didn't have a choice.  When my time was up, that was it.  Ka-blooey!  But you?  The fact that we're here means it's up to you.  And the longer you stay here, the less chance you have of getting back there."  Luke pointed to the body surrounded by the medical team._

_"Yeah, well,  that might not be such a bad idea," Stone grumbled, leaning casually against what he perceived to be a wall._

_"Are you always this dense?" Luke wondered, shaking his head.  "Can't you see what this is doing to them?"  He stabbed a finger at a point beyond Stone.  "Look!"_

_The other man reluctantly turned._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Addington and his companions watched in horror as medical personnel flooded into Stone's room.  A nurse hurriedly cut through the bloodstained bandages, allowing the doctor to apply cardio paddles to the injured man's chest.

It took being shocked three times before Stone stabilized.  Looking haggard, his doctor stepped out into the hallway, approaching the small group of friends.

"We can't afford to wait any longer.  That bullet has to come out _now_.  I just got word that Dr. Meckis is here and is already waiting in the operating room.  If Mr. Stone has any relatives, I'd suggest you call them and get them here."  He turned as the orderlies wheeled Stone's gurney out through the door and headed down the hall.  "And if any of you believe in a higher power, now would be a good time to ask for some intervention."  Giving the friends a sympathetic look, he followed the gurney down the hall.

"Oh, God," Gabrielle whispered.

J.J. put an arm around her, drawing her close.  "It's gonna be okay.  Stone's no quitter."

"Damned right he's not!"  But Addington's voice lacked his characteristic fire.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

_"That doesn't prove anything," Stone growled, turning away from the scene.  "They're compassionate folks.  They'd be upset at seeing anyone in this situation."_

_"God!  What does it take to convince you?" Luke yelled.  Shaking his hands at the ceiling in frustration, he said, "I knew my death would hit Pete, and Mr. A, pretty hard.  But I didn't have a choice. You do!  Don't throw that away, man.  You won't get another chance after I leave."_

_Stone realized they were standing out in the hallway, and he turned, watching the gurney that bore his body as the staff wheeled it toward an operating room.  "Maybe I don't want another chance."_

_Shooting the other man a piercing look, Luke grabbed Stone by the arm, dragging him into the operating room._

_"Hey!" the ex-SEAL protested, putting his hand up in protest as he passed through the wall._

_Brenner grinned, but it held little trace of humor.  "I got used to it. You aren't going to get the chance, pal!  Pete needs you, alive.  So alive you're gonna to stay."_

_Commotion around the gurney caught their attention, and both men realized that Stone's body had gone into arrest again._

_"You were saying?" Stone asked, looking innocent._

_"Goddamn it!  You have to be the most bull-headed son-of-a-bitch I've ever met. How you ever made it into the military–"_

_"Yeah, well, we're not in the military anymore," the other man snapped.  "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think it's time I got acquainted with my new home."_

_Luke grabbed his arm, hauling him back.  "What's with you, Stone?  I wouldn't have pegged you for the type to just walk out on Pete like this."_

_The ex-SEAL turned on Luke.  "Yeah, well, you didn't almost get Pete killed.  How the hell am I supposed to live with that, huh?  Even if I do pull through, I got no place left on the team and nowhere else to go.  So what exactly am I sticking around for, huh?"_

_Luke shook his head, amused.  He liked this guy in spite of his hard-headed stubbornness.  Stone probably kept Pete on his toes.  And speaking of Pete…_

_"I know you heard that Pete's gonna be okay.  Why don't we just go check on him and make sure, huh?"_

_Before Stone could protest, the scene shifted around them._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Sinclair opened his eyes, blinking slowly as he tried to pinpoint his location.  He lifted his right hand to wipe his eyes, but soon found his range of motion limited.

_What the–?  Oh, right – hospital._   Then full memory returned, and he recalled a visit from Addington.  Something about Stone being shot?  Maybe he'd dreamed it.  _One way to find out_.  _Now, where's the call button for the nurse?_

"Damn!"

Nikki was dozing in a chair by his bedside, having convinced the nursing staff to let her keep Peter company.  Hearing his muttered curse, she rose and leaned over him.  "Peter?  It's Nikki.  Take it easy.  You're going to be just fine."

"Nikki?"  God, he sounded awful even to his own ears.  "Stone, what about Stone?  Alexander said… shot?"

The former cat-burglar nodded.  "That's right."

"Oh, God."  Sinclair closed his eyes.  "How is he?"

"I'm afraid I really don't know," Nikki admitted.  "The others went to check on him. I felt someone should be with you when you woke again."

"No.  Find out–"  Peter took a deep breath, trying to ease the pain.  When he realized Nikki hadn't moved, he said, "Please, Nikki… I need to know."

Nodding, the brunette kissed his cheek, then walked out into the hallway.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

_Instinctively knowing the point Luke wanted to make, Stone nevertheless argued, "So, what does any of that prove?  He probably wants to find out if I'm still alive so he can kick my ass.  That's all."_

_"Damn, you're cold," the younger man hissed, now angry.  "It takes a lot to earn Pete's friendship, let alone his respect.  You're one of the few he actually considers an equal.  And you can't see it.  I almost feel sorry for you, pal.  Maybe it is time for you to move on.  Somewhere you won't have to worry about folks caring about you."_

_"Yeah, and how friendly do you think he's gonna be when he remembers that I wasn't there to back him up?!  That he got shot because I wasn't there!" Stone yelled in frustration.  "Better to get out now than have him kick me out."_

_"Better for you, right?" Luke challenged.  "Of course.  Numero uno comes first.  Screw everyone else.  Well, you better take a look at this before you decide, pal."  Luke pointed to the scene unfolding before them._

_With a weary sigh, Stone looked into Sinclair's room again, eyes widening as he saw Addington step into the room.  The old man looked terrible, his face gray and pinched with a soul-deep pain._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Peter, Nikki tells me that you've been asking about Stone."  Approaching the bedside, the older man chided, "You should be worrying about yourself, first."

"I'm fine," Sinclair dismissed.  "What about… Stone?"

With a sigh, Addington said, "He's still holding on, Peter.  But his condition is very grave.  There was a delay getting him to surgery."

"What kind of delay?"

"They were afraid his blood alcohol level was too high for him to be able to survive the surgery," Alexander said softly.

"Blood alcohol–?  He'd been drinking?"  Peter tried to push himself up in the bed.

"Calm down, Peter!" Addington snapped, grabbing the younger man's shoulders to keep him from moving.

Sinclair gasped as fiery tendrils of pain flared through his chest.  Closing his eyes, he gasped, "What the hell… drove him to drink?"

"I believe I have a good idea."  The industrialist cleared his throat.  "I'm afraid I wasn't exactly charitable to Mr. Stone when I first arrived at the hospital.  And… he might have heard Nikki say some equally harsh words."

"Oh, damn…" Peter wheezed.  "He let himself believe this was his fault, didn't he?" he sighed.

"I'm afraid so… with our help," the older man admitted.

"This can't be happening," the ex-detective moaned.  "Alexander, it wasn't his fault.  He had no way of knowing the information wasn't on target."

"I know."  Addington moved away, sitting heavily in the nearby chair.  "Sometimes I can't help but wonder if the price isn't too high, Peter."

"You're not thinking straight, Alexander," Sinclair chided.  Taking a shallow breath, he continued, "We all knew the risks when we agreed to work for you.  Besides, there aren't any guarantees in life."

"That's easy to say, but with both of you in hospital, I find I'm having a hard time with the consequences, Peter."  Addington's eyes took on a faraway look.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

_"How much more proof do you need?" Luke demanded of his companion.  "Things will change if you die, and not for the better, pal.  Trust me on that."_

_"Why should I?  What's in it for you?" Stone wondered.  "Why all this interest in me?"_

_"Hey, don't flatter yourself, Stone," the mercenary snapped.  "This isn't about you.  This is about Addington and Pete.  They're decent guys, and they don't deserve the guilt trip your death would send 'em on!"_

_"They'll get over it.  Trust me," Stone assured.  "No one's going to be shedding any crocodile tears over me, pally."_

_"You're so sure of that?" Luke questioned, stepping closer to the ex-SEAL.  Poking a finger at the other man's chest, he continued walking forward, forcing Stone to back up._

_The other man looked around, startled, as he realized he was suddenly moving through the wall.  "Hey!  What–?"_

_"It's time for your wake-up call, Stone."  Luke grinned as he waved goodbye. "I'll be here when you're ready to make a decision."_

_"Decision?"  Whirling, Stone realized he'd stepped into a packed funeral home.  Turning back, he tried to return through the wall, but it had somehow gone solid on him. "Damn!"_

_The ex-SEAL wasn't surprised when no one in the room took notice to him.  Still, he found it disconcerting.  Looking around, he sucked in a sharp breath as he found he could identify nearly every person in the room.  Morbid curiosity got the better of him, and he approached the open casket.  Before he could reach it, the room fell silent._

_Turning, Stone watch Addington enter the room, arm around Gabrielle's shoulders.  The blonde, dressed in black, also wore a black hat with a veil.  She kept her head low, but her grief couldn't be masked._

_J.J. followed behind them, his expression unreadable.  But Stone had long ago learned that the pilot couldn't keep his eyes from giving his feelings away.  And right now, they held deep pain._

_Helene Previn entered, slowing her pace to match someone behind her.  The last person to enter surprised the ex-SEAL.  Then his heart tightened, watching her grief-stricken expression.  If Nikki Beaumont was here, that means–_

_Swallowing hard, Stone walked over to the casket.  Looking down into his partner's still face, a knot settled under his heart.  Ah, Pete… what the hell'd you get yourself into?_

_As he turned, he saw Caroline, Sinclair's ex-wife, seated in the front row.  Gabrielle and Nikki had taken seats on either side of the woman, trying to give her some comfort._

_Addington limped to the small podium, cleared his throat, and began.  "Peter Sinclair was much more than an employee to me… he was like my son.  His premature death has left a great void in my life, as I'm sure it has with everyone gathered here today.  He never could resist trying to right injustice, and yet it was that very characteristic that led to his death."  The industrialist stopped, taking a deep breath.  "Peter Sinclair was a great man, and a great friend.  May he rest in peace."_

_As the mourners filed past the casket one final time, Stone took up position behind the Addington group.  He needed to find out, if possible, how this happened._

_It didn't take long._

_"I still can't believe this is real," Helene whispered, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye._

_"Yeah, me either," J.J. sighed.  "To be honest, I was surprised to find out that someone else was responsible…"_

_As the pilot's word trailed off, Gabrielle turned to him.  "You honestly thought Peter would be capable of suicide?"_

_J.J. shifted, uncomfortable at the question.  "And you didn't?  You saw what he was like after losing Stone.  Luke was bad enough, Gabrielle.  But Stone?  They weren't just teammates.  Those two were like brothers."_

_Helene had joined them, and she nodded at J.J.'s words.  "That is part of what influenced Alex– Mr. Addington to permanently disband the team.  He felt he could no longer bear the responsibility for the lives of his people."_

_Nikki, who'd been silent up to now, said, "Too bad disbanding the team didn't stop Peter.  He never could resist taking up a cause.  And this time, it got him killed."  She shook her head, anger momentarily replacing the grief.  "If only he'd called one of us, instead of trying to handle it alone."_

_"He might not have put a gun to his head, but the results were the same," J.J. murmured._

_Stone sank into a nearby chair.  His own death didn't disturb him.  But Pete?  Especially knowing the ex-detective had gone off on his own, without backup._

_That's how you nearly bought it this time! He railed against the man._

_Anger surged through him.  Even though he still didn't buy Brenner's garbage about his personal worth to the team, he knew that on a professional level, they needed him.  He'd committed to helping Addington, and he never went back on his word.  If he gave up now, that would be just as bad._

_Somehow, he had to find a way to make Them let him stick around a while longer._

_Striding over to the wall he'd entered through, Stone reached out to touch it. It still felt solid.  He took a step back.  "Brenner!  I've made my decision.  What the hell do I do now?"_

_When he got no answer, he stepped up to the wall again, raising a fist to hammer against it.  This time, his arm passed through, the off-balance movement carrying him along in its wake._

_Luke grinned.  "Graceful, very graceful!"_

_But Stone paid no attention to the other man, focusing instead on the medical team._

_"Let's give it one more shot," the doctor instructed, reaching for the paddles._

_  
_

_Turning to Luke, Stone hissed, "I want to go back.  I choose life."_

_"Good for you," the mercenary approved, clapping Stone on the shoulder.  "Go on.  Don't let me keep you.  And when you see Pete?  Tell him Luke says hello."_

_Swallowing hard, Stone approached the bloodied form on the table.  He reached out, trying to touch his other self, but his hand just passed through his body.  Shrugging, he hopped up on the gurney and laid down._

_Damn!  That felt weird!  He barely registered that thought before he felt the arch of current running through his body._

_Yeouch!  Cut it out, guys.  I'm here already!_

_Another shock raced along his nerves, and he found himself falling toward a black abyss.  Aw, shit… now what?_

_And then all thoughts ceased._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"He's got a heartbeat!" the nurse called.

"I'll be damned.  This guy's one tough customer," Dr. Meckis muttered, reaching for a scalpel.  "Let's get moving, people, we need to do this while he's still hanging around."

The surgical team worked together with practiced efficiency, determined to keep their patient among the living.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Six hours later, Dr. Meckis stepped out of the operating room.  He looked around for Alexander and his friends, but found no sign of them.  Stopping at the nurses' desk, he asked, "Mr. Addington and his friends, do you know where they went?"

"I believe they have another friend here in the hospital.  They went to check on him," she answered, searching the desk.  Finding a slip of paper, she read from it, "His name's Peter Sinclair.  He's up on sixth floor.  Room 649."

"Thank you."  Meckis turned and headed for the elevator. 

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

As Dr. Meckis approached Room 649, he saw Alexander and two of his friends sitting in the hallway.

Hearing footsteps, the industrialist looked up, and, spotting the doctor, he pushed to his feet.  "Kevin," he greeted, holding out his hand.  "How is he?"

"He coded on us again when we got him into surgery, but he came back strong," Meckis said, pulling off his surgical cap.

"Wait," Addington held up a hand.  "Before you go further, I think there are some other people who should hear this."  Nodding his head to his two companions, he opened the door to Sinclair's room and stepped inside.  "Ah, Peter, good, you're awake.  We have some news you'll want to hear."

The other two people, a black man and a blonde woman, followed behind the doctor, taking up places alongside Sinclair's bed.

"I'm not sure Mr. Sinclair's doctor will appreciate this," Meckis said wryly.  "But I'm sure you can smooth over any difficulties, Alexander, so here goes.  As I was saying, Mr. Stone went into cardiac arrest when we brought him into surgery.  However, he came back strong, and we were able to remove the bullet and repair the major damage."

"Is he going to be okay?" Peter asked, giving voice to the question they all needed answered.

"Well, the fact that he's made it this far is a good sign," the surgeon said.  "But it's really still touch and go – loss of blood, shock and his blood alcohol level have made treatment… challenging.  And there are a number of complications that could set in.  The first thirty-six to forty-eight hours are the most important.  Until then, it's anybody's guess.  But he's obviously a fighter."

Addington held out his hand again.  "Thank you, Kevin.  I appreciate your help on this."

"You're a hard man to refuse, Alexander," Meckis grinned, warmly returning the handshake.  He nodded to the others.  "Now, if you'll all excuse me, it's been a very long day."

"Thank you, Doctor," Peter said, watching as the other man left.

Alexander let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.  Looking around the room, he imagined his companions' expressions pretty accurately reflected his own.

He fought back a smile when he saw Peter fight down a yawn.  It was time to let the man get some undisturbed rest.  And now, with Stone out of immediate danger, perhaps the rest of them could relax enough to sleep, too.

Addington nodded toward the door.  "Well, I think it's time we leave Peter to get some rest."

The others took the hint, quickly bidding Sinclair goodbye and filing out of the room.

Peter yawned more widely as the door shut behind his friends.  He could feel the fuzzy edges of sleep wrapping around his consciousness, and he willingly surrendered. His last coherent thought centered on his partner. _I think you and I need to have a little chat, Sport._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Mr. Sinclair, need I remind you that you yourself suffered extensive trauma just two days ago?"  Dr. Collins stared at his patient in exasperation.

"Believe me, Doctor, I'm well aware of that fact.  But I'm not asking to be discharged.  I just want to sit with Stone for a while."  Peter swallowed.  Although Alexander and the others had reassured him that the American continued to improve, he needed to see that for himself, needed to sit with his partner.

"Mr. Stone's in no condition for a visit," the doctor protested.  "His condition's stable, but he's still very weak, Mr. Sinclair."

"I know.  I know," Peter sighed.  "I swear to you, he won't be disturbed by my visit.  He won't even know I'm there.  I just need to sit with him for a while.  Please."

"This is well outside of hospital procedures, you know."  The physician tried one last time.

"Doctor, haven't you ever had a friend you'd give your life for?" the ex-detective asked.  "I'll agree to whatever conditions you ask.  I'll let a nurse wheel me in, I won't move out of the wheelchair.  Just give me ten minutes."

"And if I don't?"

Without stopping to think, Sinclair snapped, "Then I'll bloody well find my own damned way and probably rip out every stitch you put in me!"

The corners of the doctor's mouth twitched.  _At least he's honest!_   Coming to a decision, he said, "All right.  You'll get your ten minutes.  But that's all, understood?  I'll have the nurse come to take you to your friend's room.  And when you come back, it's straight to bed, with a sedative.  No arguments.  Clear?"

Peter hated the sedatives.  He hated the fog they left around his brain.  But if agreeing got him in to see Stone, then so be it.  "Fine."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Fifteen minutes later, a nurse carefully maneuvered Peter's wheelchair through the door into Stone's room.  Setting the handbrake, she whispered, "I'll be back in ten minutes."

Peter could only nod, his power of speech stolen at the first sight of his partner. The various whirrs and clicks of machinery aside, it was Stone's unnatural stillness that Sinclair initially found most disquieting.  The American seldom stayed immobile for long, unless it happened to be job-related.  And now his utter stillness only served to emphasize the severity of his injury.

As he continued to study his friend, Sinclair blanched at the colorless, sunken cheeks and the dark circles under Stone's eyes.  In truth, the man looked more dead than alive, even two days later.

"My God, Sport… how did we come to this?" Peter whispered, dismayed.

He received no answer, but then, he hadn't expected one.

Memories of Luke flashed through Peter's mind.  Losing Brenner had definitely been a blow.  But Sinclair knew it would be nothing compared to losing Stone.  Not that Luke hadn't been a good friend, but Peter had always felt slightly protective, almost paternal, toward the younger man.  Stone, on the other hand, needed no protection.  The man was a lone wolf, carefully choosing who got close.  Sinclair knew he'd been included in that exclusive circle, and he wondered if that had contributed to Stone's drinking, or if that was just his own ego, putting a different slant on events.

"We're going to have a long chat, Stone," Peter whispered.  "It's long past time you and I cleared the air on some important issues."

The door opened and his nurse-chauffeur returned.  "I'm afraid your ten minutes are up, Mr. Sinclair.  It's time to go."

The ex-detective didn't protest.  In truth, the visit had tired him more than he'd expected.  And he needed time to think.

The nurse wheeled him back to his room, then helped settle him into bed.  She finally handed him a sleeping pill, watching as he took it.

"For Christ's sake, I'm not a child!"  He handed the cup back to her.

"Doctor's orders were to make sure you took it, Mr. Sinclair.  You'll heal faster if you sleep."  She made sure the call button was in reach, then left.

Peter closed his eyes, reluctantly surrendering to the drug.  Just as he drifted off, he thought he heard Luke's voice say, "It'll be all right, Pete.  Just get some rest."

Sleep enveloped the Brit before he could question the validity of his senses.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Peter continued to visit his partner for short periods of time over the next week.  Most times, the American slept through the visits, and Peter didn't disturb him.  But occasionally, if Stone was awake, Peter filled him in on what was going on outside the hospital walls.

Stone, still weak from his injuries and on painkillers, usually didn't respond beyond an occasional nod, at least for the first few days.  But as his condition improved, he began to enter into the discussion.

A week after the shooting, Stone was finally allowed out of bed for short periods of time.  By the tenth day, his doctor agreed that he could be wheeled into the hospital's solarium.  The sunshine would do him good.

Peter arranged to have their next visit there.  He had the nurse wheel him in a little ahead of the time, and chose a far corner of the room.  Even though he'd been assured that they'd have the room to themselves, he preferred to leave nothing to chance.

Stone's nurse wheeled him in a few minutes later.  She gave a warm smile to Sinclair, then said, "I'll be back in half an hour, Mr. Stone."

"Yeah, thanks."  The American watched her go, then folded his hands in his lap.  Eyeing his partner, he said, "You're looking pretty good, Pete."

"As are you," the Brit responded.  "You had us all worried, Stone."

"Yeah.  And no one gave a rat's ass about you, right?"

Sinclair fought back a shudder at the terminology.  Squaring his shoulders, he snapped, "That's not the point.  My injury was a calculated risk – something we knew could happen as a result of the job.  You, on the other hand–"

"Calculated risk, my ass!"  Realizing he'd just about shouted, Stone glanced around guiltily.

"You know as well as I do that it's a possibility every time we agree to a job, Stone."  Peter looked at his partner.  "But you weren't on a job.  So why don't you tell me what you _were_ doing in that neighborhood late at night?"

Stone flashed him a shark's grin.  "I was stretching my legs.  Guess I put them where they didn't belong."

"The hell you say," Sinclair hissed, goaded.  "I've been asking around, Stone. They tell me you were in that same store less than an hour before the shooting.  I also heard you bought a bottle of whiskey, and that when you came back the second time, it was empty."

"What are you, my mother?"  Stone looked around for a nurse.  "I'm not gonna put up with this bullshit, man.  I'm outta here!  Nurse!"

Peter's grin echoed Stone's earlier one.  "Yell all you want, Sport.  I pulled a few strings.  We're on our own for this visit."

"You son-of-a-bitch!  So I felt like taking the edge off!" Stone snarled.  "What's the harm in that?"

"Ordinarily, nothing," Peter agreed calmly.  "But we both know this went beyond taking the edge off, Stone.  When they brought you in, your blood alcohol level was more than _double_ the legal limit."

"Make your point, Pete," the American snapped.  "I wasn't driving, and I wasn't hassling anyone.  So what's the problem?"

"What's the–?"  Sinclair lost hold of his temper.  "The problem, my dear Stone, is that you stumbled onto a robbery in progress and got yourself shot!"

"Gee, thanks for reminding me, Sinclair.  Really.  I already forgot all about it." Stone looked around the solarium.  "Hell, I thought I was on vacation here."

"Bloody arrogant–"  Peter took a deep breath.  The direct route had failed.  He should've realized that it would.  One had to coax information out of Stone.  He couldn't be bullied.  "Look, Stone, Alexander told me what he'd said to you, when he first arrived.  He also told me that you overheard Nikki say some… uncomplimentary remarks, as well."

The other man shrugged.  "Ain't nothin' I haven't heard before, Pete.  If I judged myself by how other folks see me, I'd probably have checked out of this life a long time ago."

"So what were you trying to do in that liquor store?" Peter asked softly.

"I was getting a drink, Sinclair," the American snapped.  "Listen, if I wanted out, there'd be no second chance, you can bet on that."

"You're sure that's all there is to it?"

"What do you want from me?  Some sentimental confession on how I was blaming myself for you getting shot?"

"Well, that would be a start," the blond man agreed, a small grin stealing across his face.  Just as quickly, he sobered, saying, "I think I know you pretty well by now, Stone.  You _did_ blame yourself for my injury.  Hell, I'd have felt the same way, if our positions had been reversed.  But it wasn't your fault.  You do know that, don't you?"

"I'm your partner, Pete.  I'm supposed to cover your ass," Stone growled.  "Hard to do that when I'm ten minutes late to a scheduled meet:  my responsibility, my screw-up, my fault."

Sinclair, about to retort, reconsidered his words a moment.  Finally, he said, "I suppose I'd be feeling the same way, were I in your shoes.  You're not any more to blame for me getting shot than I am, Stone.  Face it, we both knew our information was shaky at best, and we chose to act on it anyway.  It seemed the best decision at the time."  Peter hoped his words were getting through to his partner.

"It was my idea to go along with it," the American reminded his companion.

"What difference does that make?" Peter retorted.  "I agreed to it.  That makes it as much my responsibility as yours."

"You can still say that?  After what happened?"

"Yes, damn it!"  Frustrated, Sinclair thumped the arm of his wheelchair with his fist.  He winced as his body reminded him why that wasn't such a good idea.  "This isn't like you, Stone.  We've had our share of snafus before and you've never crawled into a bottle.  What made this different?"

"Yeah, well, I never screwed any of them up to the point of almost getting you killed either," Stone snapped.  "How the hell can you trust me, Pete?  I damned well wouldn't!  Christ, I–"

"Lucky thing I'm not you, then," the Brit calmly answered.  Seeing his partner meant to argue further, Sinclair held up a hand to stop the words before they could be said.  "Tell me this, Stone.  Did you _intend_ to arrive late to the meeting?"

"No!"  The other man jumped as if stung.  "You know me better than that!"

"Of course I do," Peter reassured him.  His expression serious, he continued, "Look, Sport, normally I wouldn't push the issue, but this is important.  I get the feeling that part of what drove you to that liquor store was that you felt you'd end up alone.  Am I right?"

Stone flushed, staring straight ahead to avoid Sinclair's probing gaze.  "And if you were?"

"I'd say that's a lot of responsibility for one man to carry, but that I'll try to duck faster next time, okay?"

A smile tugged the corners of Stone's mouth.  "Ducking's good.  Ducking's real good."

Peter turned serious again. "Just one more thing, Stone."

"What's that?" Stone asked, apprehension tugging briefly at the ex-SEAL's nerves.

"If you ever, and I _do_ mean _ever_ , pull such a brainless stunt again, I will kick your Yank ass straight to hell myself!  We've been partners, and friends, too long to chuck it all away without a fight.  Do I make myself clear?"

"Let me just get this straight," Stone requested.  Taking a deep breath, he said, "We're sittin' here, our asses in wheelchairs, fighting about not giving up the partnership without a fight?"

"Yes."  Peter glared at his companion. "Stone–"

"That's the name, don't wear it out!"  The American laughed, seeing Sinclair's exasperated look.  "What's the matter, having second thoughts already, Pete?"

Without hesitation, the other man answered, "Not on your life, my friend."

"Me either," Stone softly responded.

They settled into a companionable silence.  Peter knew they hadn't totally laid the issue of loneliness to rest, but at least they'd beaten it back into the darkness for a while longer.

He could live with that.  And so could Stone.

 

 

 


End file.
